Little Talks
by PimRadical
Summary: The force is bridging Ben and Rey together after Snoke's death. Ben's perspective.
1. Ben and the Rebel

**Ben and the Rebel**

Ben wouldn't let himself reach out to her. He was angry, yes, but even that wouldn't usually stop him; his curiosity was just as stubborn as his pride, as his anger, as his pain.

Still, he missed even the idea that she'd come to him, like a stray, wandering into otherwise private moments of his life. Life before… without the First Order was not something he willfully contemplated, but the notion of it seemed to accompany her, whenever she inappropriately materialized against his background of hard lines and geometric symmetry. Out of place, without any real status or rank, she was something new. An outlier, an intruder. At the very least, she was a hindrance. Then her breath became familiar.

Her alarm, expressions, her manner were all foreign to him… for a little while. He lived in an environment of shifting masks and shuffling suits, formations, "order". The word was becoming more and more arbitrary. Order didn't really matter to him, it was the facelessness he appreciated. It simplified things. No furrowed brows, no defiant, upturned chins. He remembered her concentration as she resisted him, how it showed on her face, how she rose to meet his gaze. Her mouth opening, closing, baring teeth, her nostrils flaring, her expression shifting from grimace to grin, her eyes, always steady, pupils dilating. She was kinetic, edgeless.

He'd never desired companionship like he desired hers, perhaps because he'd never suffered so much from loneliness. Unlike his relation in status to Snoke and Hux, and even Luke before them, Ben's relationship with Rey was one that didn't have to be named; she came with no burdens or expectations, no titles and no backstory. And she cared. He could feel it, even when she had stared him down in hatred and fear. Something in her was afflicted with affection for him, curiosity at the least, and he couldn't deny the same within himself. This connection, he had concluded — out of necessity more than anything else — could not and need not be defined.

Admittedly, he'd begun drawing relief from the feeling of her nearness. She was his only equal, even if they were opposed, and there was something about her that he liked to keep private, as if a small piece of each of their lives were reserved only for each other. Any sentiment he had for those moments died with Snoke. It was all false, contrived. Perhaps she was genuine, but the circumstance only served to remind him that her genuinity was not truly meant for him. It was Snoke's tactic and he played into it, thinking for just a short while that he had...something...with someone, all his own.

But she did return, of course.

"Ben," She was firm, but not insistent. She met him steadily.

"Rebel," he returned, matching her.

"Hello again."


	2. Alone With You

**Alone With You**

He had tried to forget that last moment of pause, before she boarded the falcon with the remainder of the rebels. Snoke was gone, blessedly gone. But she was still there, tethered. They were close in proximity, he rationalized, the bridge was an easy one to make. Instinctual, even.

It was her, more than anything. _She_ wanted to see him, to assess him; he was her last thought, her last fear. She wanted him both near and far, and she had chosen the more complicated route.

_This_ was what he hated about the state of the galaxy: everything was too complexly interconnected. He had learned of many wars and conflicts - in each of them, victory depended heavily upon chance, upon situational circumstances that defied controlled planning. He thought he could correct it, he _longed_ to correct it. Make it more efficient, more simple. He admired control, needed it.

How differently would they face each other, had the rebellion already been defeated before she could flee Snoke's control room? Would she be a partner to him?

* * *

"Hello again."

He imagined them without any contingencies. No rebels. No First Order, no _allegiances_. Dropped on opposite poles of an isolated planet, perhaps, finding their way to each other.

* * *

She pivoted slowly, and before he could even see her expression, he crossed the room to meet her. They played a mirroring game, with eyes and with stance, each responding to the slightest shift in the other. Five feet apart, countless miles apart, her eyes wide and provoking as she met his stare. The energy in the room began to equalize, his rage to dissipate, and he was left only with this strange, vacuous feeling. Every sound echoing, every intention, thought, feeling reverberating in their shared equilibrium. What does one do when his enemy is so intimately close? And what is an enemy once she becomes familiar?

"You're alone," he pushed. After so long, he could _feel_ her, and by extension, he could feel the surroundings she responded to. There was warmth, a glow. Fire, perhaps. Small and contained, comfortable. A lightness, a brevity… water condensing on leaves. Stillness but collective unrest; night was falling.

"With you," Her voice crested and fell, burrowing into him. So immediate, yet extended… sonorous. In that moment, he hated her. She had denied his partnership, she did not _want_ to be with him. He felt something rise in his throat - a scream, a cry? - and swallowed it.

He wondered how much she felt his environment, his... privacy. Disorienting, how his world blended with hers, how the walls around him were reduced to vapor. Yet everything was real, solid. There was suspension without proof, shadow without an object to cast it. The ground he stood on, once metal, felt soft and shifty beneath his boot. Sand? Clay? He almost smirked, to think that she might be lounging on a beach somewhere. Alone… searching? There was the faint sound of water. Sound wasn't quite right, it was more of a presence. Everything was either presence or absence, both equally felt. He couldn't judge the size of it.

"Can you see this?" He asked, direct, extending his arm toward her. A small, silver cube rested in his palm, he'd picked it up from the table behind him. He focused on the object, intending to veil it from her sight. She watched him, eyes flicking between his face and his hand, wary. She was… squinting.

"Your hand is empty," She hesitated.

"No," he replied, allowing her to see it, "We can choose."

"...what the other sees," Rey trailed off, eyes focused on the object. The fire, the clay, the leaves surrounding her vanished, leaving only the rebel. Inserted into his world, she was simultaneously in and out of place. He liked the dissonance.

He followed suit almost immediately, sensing her intentions, anticipating a challenge. His guard flew up, he caught his balance.

They were in a hollow, open place. It seemed black at first, but he could see browns, purples, blues as his eyes adjusted. Discrete colors blended, bending the air around them.

"Don't move," He warned.

* * *

"Come closer."


End file.
